


chase away the chill

by roborose



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Intimacy, Fluff, Non-binary Reader - Freeform, Other, mentions of old nightwings, tariq saying More than he meant to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roborose/pseuds/roborose
Summary: "Are you lonely tonight, Tariq?"





	chase away the chill

**Author's Note:**

> featuring some of my personal headcanons regarding tariq and the old nightwings!

Sleep eluded the Reader that night. 

Their wakefulness couldn’t be attributed to uncertainty of their surroundings, or an overabundance of noise. The steady, soft breathing of their sleeping companions around them and the quiet of the Moonlight Alcove had thrice before proven to work wonders for the restless, but still that rest escaped them. In frustration, they arose. 

In the months before, they had cultivated certain rituals with their fellow Nightwings on evenings such as this. Sometimes they and Jodariel would share each other's quiet company. Other nights, Volfred would share his vast wealth of knowledge with the Reader, educating them on history and revolutionary theories. Hedwyn told stories about his childhood, and the Reader told stories about theirs. Fae pointed out signs of the Scribes in all she saw that day, Rukey reminisced about his mother and boneheaded uncles…

Indeed, they’d spent at least one sleepless night with each of those they called their friends, their teammates, some of whom had already claimed their freedom. However, he who held the record for restless conversations is who the Reader first found this eve. 

Tariq sat on the ground outside the wagon. He leaned casually back against one of the wheels, eyes cast upward as he idly and quietly strummed his lute. The Reader pulled their cloak tightly around their shivering frame as they approached, a small spring of eagerness in their step. Being in the company of the mysterious Lone Minstrel always proved to relax them, often to the point that they’d drift off while sitting right beside him. Always kind-hearted, he would replace them in their bed soon after. 

The near-nightly conversations had, as of late, begun to stir deeper feelings in the Reader’s heart. Tariq’s gentle presence and pleasant demeanor drew them in, calling for something within them to come ever closer. For his comfort, however, they’d just as well let the ache subside on its own. Still, they couldn’t help but to let themself fantasize for a time. 

Though, it did bode well that Tariq seemed to become just a tad less formal when they were in private. They couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of pride for that. 

Presently, he who held the Reader’s heart regarded them with a nod and a small, warm smile. The Reader reflected the gesture before settling in the grass next to him, as habit led them to, cloak only barely protecting them from the cold ground beneath. Tariq seemed not to notice the chill that blew through the Reader. They quietly hoped that he would. 

Regardless, a comfortable, familiar silence curled around the pair for a time, the distance between them negligible. Tariq strummed quiet chords, eyes returning to the stars. The Reader’s own gaze followed. Here, on Mt. Alodiel, the sky stretched wide and uninterrupted, vast and beautiful. The chords that floated quietly into the night seemed to coax the twinkling of the stars to shine more brightly, music dancing closely with the light that played off of them. The Reader got the impression that perhaps Tariq was showing off his knowledge of what made the stars tick. That subtle pride in his work attracted them even further. 

Time passed. 

Despite the atmosphere, the Reader grew restless once more. Though distracted by Tariq’s music and the light show above, they found themself unable to ignore the winds that whipped through their clothes and prickled uncomfortably at their skin. They thought for a moment that they could perhaps scoot closer to Tariq without him noticing, but they were already a mere finger’s width apart and any closer would bring them shoulder to shoulder. 

The Reader glanced sidelong at Tariq and begrudgingly considered their options. It was a shame, but it seemed the best thing to do would be to retire for the evening. They shifted only slightly before Tariq spoke, fingers stilled on the strings of his lute, its previously sung notes ringing out.

“Reader,” his voice, ever soft, had an edge to it. “You need not go.”

Not having moved more than an inch, the Reader peered up at the minstrel, momentarily surprised at his sudden outburst, if it could be called such. He had turned towards them, golden eyes drawing the Reader back in.

“Ah…” The Reader relaxed into their spot once more, not yet noticing the light brush of their arm against his. “Are you lonely tonight, Tariq?”

It took him a moment to answer, gaze trailing back down to his lute as he plucked experimentally at its strings.

“Yes.” A melancholy note echoed. “I suppose so.”

The Reader opened their mouth to speak, but the impression that he had more to say quickly quieted them. His words weaved through his music as he spoke.

“If I am to be honest, Reader, the thoughts and feelings I carry related to this place, to Alodiel, weigh heavily on me this eve. I trust that you are perceptive enough that there is no need to pretend otherwise.” A pause. He carefully considered each word. “Though, I must apologize. I do not seek to impose my company upon you if it is truly your wish to leave.”

It took only a split second of consideration before the Reader came to their decision.

“No.” They noticed their closeness, and leaned against him further, hoping it would serve as a comfort. The motion, though their own, made their heart ache. “I wouldn’t want to leave any more than you. I thought I’d get a blanket for myself, given the cold, is all.”

“...I see.” His music ceased. 

The Reader tensed. Had he caught their little white lie?

“Would you be alright, alone for a moment, if I did?”

“You need not trouble yourself.”

Tariq shifted away from the Reader, to their dismay. Their immediate thought was that they had said or done something wrong, and broken the safe atmosphere that Tariq seemed to need so badly. They turned to him, looking to ask for clarification, as a pleasant weight came to rest over their shoulders. The Reader’s thoughts quieted. Their eyes followed his hands as they deftly fastened the cloak in place around them, all too aware of how he lingered close a second longer than necessary. This close to their chest, could he sense their heavy heartbeat?

They quickly banished those thoughts as he returned to his place. 

The cloak was softer than anything they’d yet come to know in the Downside, and it quickly warmed with the Reader’s own body heat. They tugged it gratefully, greedily, around themself.

“Thank you, Tariq...” They let the sound of their smile seep into their words, hoping he could feel their appreciation. “Is it alright for me to use this, though? The cold doesn’t bother you?”

“I pay it no mind, usually. However, I often forget that others do. Please, excuse my inconsideration.” 

“It’s no fault of yours.” They leaned into him again, tentatively. To their utter elation, the Reader could feel him pressing into the touch in return. His music paused for the few seconds during which they spoke. “It wasn’t nearly as cold here before. How long has it been since we last came?”

“Two moons, and a few days.” He played again, absently, idly, just one note plucked every few seconds. It was barely enough to justify the lute’s presence in his lap.

“It was less time than we had before.”

“It is.”

“Not much time to recover from your feelings about this place, hm? Since last time I mean.”

Tariq paused again, contemplative as ever, but still only playing one note at a time. The Reader had his full attention, and Tariq had theirs.

“When last the Nightwings were here…” A particularly beautiful chord accompanied the beginning of his thought, and a few more accompanied his words along the way. “Before you led them, before Hedwyn gathered his companions, before a mysterious client of mine set out to reform this triumvirate for a new purpose…”

His voice did not change, but his grip tightened around the neck of his lute. The Reader could feel his shoulders tense. Everything seemed to pour out of him, to his own surprise. He pressed on, regardless. 

“Volfred was not alone in his mourning for kin and loved ones lost. The night that Oralech, he who asserted himself, bearing Nightwings’ colors and name, spoke of is still fresh in my memory. I will not bare many details, as it is not fully my story to tell, but never before, nor since, had I felt quite so powerless. What could I do, in that moment, to stop it?” The music slowed to a stop as Tariq took a breath, silently. The Reader got the sense that perhaps he hadn’t meant to reveal this much, initially. 

“The three with whom I’d travelled for many moons before were all simply gone after that night. Two of them, permanently. Watching our numbers dwindle has reminded me of this.

“Though I do get along quite well with Volfred, and though I am thankful for his companionship, the relationship I had cultivated with Oralech in particular is not something I will soon forget. Perhaps I never will. It is true that he yet lives, but his return has changed him in a way that tells of no hope for reconciliation...”

He stopped again, for a long while. The silence hung heavily, but the Reader waited patiently for him to continue, sensing that there was much more to his story, his thoughts, his feelings regarding that night.

“I loved him, in a way. What more I feel, I cannot say for certain.” Tariq sounded tired. Deflated and defeated, perhaps. “Reader, understand that I was likely never meant to form these sorts of attachments. I am charged to the service of the Nightwings as a passive guide, and nothing more. Bearing this in mind, I must request that you keep this matter private. No serious consequences may yet come, but I am still not to be much influence on the thoughts or actions of the Nightwings. You included. You especially. However...

“If I am to tell you anything else, it is that… I fear it all happening once more. The love for and closeness with Oralech is not unlike what I feel for you, now. I do not wish to be so suddenly separated again.”

The Reader sat in stunned silence for a moment, heart racing, as they mulled over what he’d said. They indeed felt an initial shock followed by a rush of happiness, but perhaps it was not the best time to express it outwardly. What they felt now was simply intense care and love for the man sitting next to them. 

Tariq laid his lute in his lap, one hand still wrapped loosely around its neck, the other resting on its body. In the faint starlight, what the Reader could see of him appeared so fragile. He did not want to talk more about the matter, that much they could tell, but what more could they do for him?

“Tariq, please know this,” they began, with conviction. As an extra measure, they laid a hand on his that rested on the lute. A solid connection, something warm and real. Something that wouldn’t be overwhelming, but enough to say that they, indeed, reciprocated his feelings. They felt him shift, just slightly, in response. “I value your trust just as much as I value the others’. Thank you for even baring this much to me. I know that remembering all of this is a hard task in itself. Please, tell me, if there’s anything I can do for you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Tariq surprised the Reader once more. At this request of theirs, he turned his hand and twined their fingers loosely together.

“...I simply ask that you stay with me a bit longer, Reader.”

Their heart leapt. They squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly, honored that they could help him in even the slightest of ways. 

“Then that I’ll do.”

And so they did. 

The two sat together for most of the night, the Reader passing the time with anecdotes, either humorous or emotional. They joked where they felt appropriate, and coaxed what chuckles they could out of him. They shared stories of their life before being sentenced into exile, told him of their heartbreak as they their painstakingly tended library burned, told him of their hopelessness as they lay dying days later, and their gratefulness towards the friends who’d saved them, and the closeness with those whom they’d since made. 

The stars shifted above them, those belonging to the rites still dim and unassuming. Tariq pointed out constellations that the Reader hadn’t ever heard of, and told what he could of his life before the new Nightwings. However, he was ever tight-lipped. Perhaps it was meant as a way to make up for his lack of stories to tell, but he had offered a song every now and then. Though, he never delivered, seemingly reluctant to let go of the Reader’s hand. They didn’t mind.

What comfortable silences they did fall into were laced with warmth and understanding, Tariq’s spirits eventually lifting noticeably. The Reader allowed their mind to wander, but found that they could only think of him. Perhaps it was unlikely, but they thought that he may have been experiencing the same single-mindedness.

Towards dawn, the Reader’s eyes grew heavy. Fought though they had to stay awake, they couldn’t keep themself from dozing against Tariq’s shoulder, the warmth of his cloak around their shoulders a comfort. Tariq offered to bring them in for the night, but the Reader refused. Instead, they changed positions, making themself comfortable in the grass and laying their head on his thigh. He allowed this. In fact, he seemed all too happy to oblige, moving his lute from his lap to the ground beside him.

They closed their eyes, secure and content.

As they drifted off, they felt the lightest chilled touch on their forehead. A kiss, courtesy of the moon himself.


End file.
